


Negligence

by TheMulletWhisperer



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Fights, Framing, Gen, Mystery, Plots Yo, Plotz - Freeform, mhmm, mmm, yeah - Freeform, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 07:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7036195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMulletWhisperer/pseuds/TheMulletWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knight Richton thwarts yet another Thalmor plot while Galina is off making out with Arkved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Negligence

**Author's Note:**

> Might not be my best work, I felt like I rushed this one, but HEY, YOU KNOW WHAT...I DON'T HAVE ANY EXCUSE SO SHUTUP THO
> 
> Go read "Beauty of a Secret" (NSFW)(VERY EXPLICIT RUN) to understand what exactly this parallels.

The night air of Whiterun was filled with the sounds of crickets chirping, dogs barking, and grasshoppers buzzing. Presumably, it was also chilly, though Richton couldn’t tell in the slightest, save for the few remaining streetwalkers ducking into their homes with cloaks and jackets pulled tightly around their bodies. By now, almost everyone was either at home in bed, or holed up in the tavern drinking themselves stupid. Either one served Richton’s purposes well enough. 

Almost immediately after leaving Falkreath by carriage, he’d picked up word of a particularly important Altmer in Whiterun, an information broker for the Thalmor who tipped them off to several heretics and criminals. Word had it that he knew of both Galina and Arkved, something that Richton couldn’t allow. 

As he passed the Mare through the markets of the Plains District, he could hear a scream from inside the tavern, noting the foggy windows upstairs and a fair amount of the patrons exiting the tavern, sober, but still looking like they were going to vomit--while a few were walking rather awkwardly. It took only a short cast of a detect life spell for him to confirm what it’d been, but what caught him off guard was the size difference. Now curious, he began heading towards the tavern, but was stopped in his tracks by a nearby conversation from two of the recently-exited patrons.

_ “Seriously? That big Thalmor guy? No way, that Breton should be dead.” _

_ “Yeah, you see his eyes? Only the servants of the Daedra have eyes as black as that.” _

No matter how blatantly wrong he figured both of those statements were, he had a positive identification without having to clean his mind out with a scrub brush. This presented an opportunity to pin negligence on an Emissary of the Thalmor. A perfect opportunity, ripe for the picking.

Without hanging back, he moved on, up the stairs, and into the wind distrct. This is where the informant resided--he just had to find the mer. Most of the homes were locked, and there weren’t enough conspicuous guards outside to constitute any suspicion. Besides, the Thalmor weren’t known for hiding in plain sight, they had to be inconspicuous and undetectable. That meant they probably weren’t in plainclothes, nor were they hiding their informant in a home. 

Likely looking insane while doing so, the man walked about the streets, tapping each square foot of cobblestone with his heel, listening intently for any hollow sounds. Nothing in the streets--though perhaps that was a stupid idea to begin with, someone would definitely notice an Altmer coming out of the roads, so he went for a new plan. Approaching the far wall, across a hay scattered ground filled with sleeping cows, he began tapping on the masonry with his knuckles. Once again, nothing.

He turned back, heading for the statue of Talos on the far side of the district--that sounded off. He tapped his foot on the ground again, a hollow thumping noise reaching his ears through the metal of his helmet. 

After making sure that nobody was looking on, he pulled a glove off to reveal an ethereal hand, near invisible were it not for the blue glow marking the boundaries of it. Placing it flat against the ground he’d stepped on, he watched as the illusion that masked it rippled. Eureka. 

Sliding his glove back on, he felt around for a handle, to which he found nothing. There was, of course, a simple fix to this problem. He pulled his long blade from his hip and wedged it into the crack between the door and the frame, pushing the hilt down and prying it open, effectively dispelling the Illusion.

As he hopped down inside, he made certain to shut it behind him so that whatever he found wouldn’t be disturbed by prying guards.

Looking around, he found himself in a well-lit tunnel, which had obviously been present for a while. Stones had been laid in, and the walls were well-furnished. Ahead, he could see where the corridor he was standing in opened up into an entry hall, guarded by two Thalmor honor guards in glass armor. With no way ahead but forward, he began walking, the clanking of his armor echoing off the chamber walls.

It didn’t take long for the mer to notice him and draw their blades, approaching quietly. The fact that Richton already had his blade drawn, coupled with the fact that he was even  _ down _ there in the first place had tipped the Altmer off that his intentions were not to sell home-baked cookies.

As soon as they engaged the armored phantom, they knew instantly that elite training did not trump raw experience. The first swung his sword downwards and was thwarted by a crested shield, while the other lunged in for a thrust to his side, which was taken full-on without so much as a drop of blood drawn--only an odd blue smoke.

Without much hesitation, the one who’d struck the shield swung savagely downwards, but a practiced hand and an agile shield arm saw him quickly parried, his defenses let down for just long enough for Richton to run his blade right through the mer’s gut. As he fell to his knees, the knight planted his foot on his shoulder and pushed him off of the sword, watching him fall to the ground.

His slowness turned out to be a weakness, as his friend rushed and attacked from the side, knocking his shield to the ground and leaving him with only a sword to defend himself. This, in the end, did prove ample enough. The elite went to stab Richton in the chest, but found his sword caught just before it hit the surcoat. In one deft move, he severed the mer’s wrist and kicked him to the floor. 

Leaving the bleeding Altmer behind, the phantom pulled a key from the body of his comrade, approaching the door on the far side of the room, sliding it into the lock, and pushing at the click. 

As soon as he came in sight, an arrow bounced off of his pauldron, and the other from the chain mesh beneath his surcoat. Given choice between fight or flight, the informant seemingly had chosen fight--a dangerous and likely fatal move. To avoid taking any more arrows, or at least minimize the occurrence, Richton charged the desk that he was standing on, toppling it with the mer on top. Easily enough killed in his vulnerable state, the knight drove his blade right through the Altmer’s back, leaving him to writhe in pain for a few moments before falling still.

The problem taken care of, he turned to the scattered papers about the floor. It took a few moments but he found a letter signed by the Third Emissary. Though the handwriting was a bit too complicated for him to reproduce, the signature would be easy enough. Picking up a quill from the ground, and locating an intact inkwell from a nearby cupboard, he pulled a fresh sheet of parchment and began writing.

=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=

_ Orsi,  _

_ Now that your transfer to Whiterun has been secured, we must make sure you stay that way. To ensure this, I will be providing you with elite guardsmer, capable of eliminating even the deadliest of foes. Atop this, you will be given a base of operations that is well-hidden from any scrying eye or impotent guard. You will be kept safe, for the sake of the Dominion and the Thalmor. _

__ Rulindil, Third Emissary _ _

 

With a glance back at the dead guards, Elenwen gave a sigh and folded the note, placing it in her robes.

“Get me the Emissary.”


End file.
